


Ravens and Wolves: And I Might Just As Well Burn For You

by TheAngryKimchi



Series: Kinky Kimchi [5]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vikings, Dark Loki (Marvel), Implied Mpreg, M/M, Mating Rituals, Okay maybe a little bit of plot, Paganism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Shaman Loki, Somewhat, and a little of blood, viking thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:08:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22121590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAngryKimchi/pseuds/TheAngryKimchi
Summary: The chains hanging on his chest gleam, rustle. The dark of the paint covering his skin lights up under the fire's glow. Swirls and lines, runes for protection, for fertility, for love. Thin lips stretch into a cruel smile. The sharp edges of his face emerge from the shadows. Green eyes glow sharper at the bonfire's glare.A man in outrage - desperate. This is what Loki is. A shaman driven by need. He won’t stop at nothing if it means he will have that which he desires most.
Relationships: Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)
Series: Kinky Kimchi [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1168877
Comments: 37
Kudos: 135





	Ravens and Wolves: And I Might Just As Well Burn For You

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [Heljarför](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GD_OMHHeJoI) by Danheim, which is really what set the mood for this ritualistic Thorki. I do suggest to be listening to it while reading ^^
> 
> Important Note: I haven't decided yet if I want it to be made into a series or a 3-part story, thus it will be marked as finished until I have the rest of it (prequel & sequel). 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy reading 💕

The new moon is only a thin silver hanging on the filled with stars velvet of the sky. A bonfire, the only light in the dark of the night, spreads its orange glow through the fog of the small clearing deep into the woods. A lone form is occasionally illuminated by it, on one beating of the heart it’s enclosed in the fire's warmth and the next it’s latent in eerie gloom.

A cymbal is fastened around the figure’s hip. It beats. Once. Twice. A wolf howls in the distance and the thump of the cymbal echoes along with it.

Seeds chime inside the husk skins of their dried fruits, hanged on trees, rustling by the blow of air that picks up slowly and gently in intervals, sneaks over bare skin, raises shivers on its path. Copper cylinders join the chorus with their jingling sounds. 

The figure throws an arm out to the fire. Coins attached on thin gold chains coil around the long limb, sough their calling. Tiny pouches encircle the man’s slim waist, rustle with every move of his hips, every beating thump of his bare feet on the ground. Humming resonates from deep inside his chest, vibrating in his throat and tingling on his lips.

Words, arcane and guttural fall from his mouth. Whispered in the dead of night. A request to the gods for their blessing. A plea for his wish to be granted.

The fire sizzles, hissing its reply to him. 

The chains hanging on his chest gleam, rustle. The dark of the paint covering his skin lights up under the fire's glow. Swirls and lines, runes for protection, for fertility, for love. Thin lips stretch into a cruel smile. The sharp edges of his face emerge from the shadows. Green eyes glow sharper at the bonfire's glare. 

A man in outrage - desperate. This is what Loki is. A shaman driven by need. He won’t stop at nothing if it means he will have that which he desires most.

Bare feet hit the ground. Thin fingers pulp on the taut skin of the cymbal. The fire blazes as if sensing the inferno that is his soul. 

The wolf sounds again. Loki’s lips part to let the vibrations of his murmurings fall free, escape into the woods, curl in the air and direct his will out to the nature. 

Rustling on the leaf-littered ground, susurrus from branches catching on clothes and, then, a voice. Seeking and familiar, dear, beloved.

Blue eyes latch onto green over the fire. Light trips and falls over sunny hair and charming features, a sturdy, large build. Thor, Son of Odin.

The Viking is punctual as always.

Loki smiles and returns to his humming, swinging his hips to the rhythm of the cymbals. He twirls around the fire, slowly dancing his way towards the man. 

“What is all this?” Thor asks, fingers mindlessly seeking out for the shaman’s waist. But the man is slippery, a snake in disguise - he coils away, takes a step back and turns, throws his arms out to the fire head and body bend in half a bow. It sizzles from the herbs he throws in the flames;  _ damiana, rubus idaeus, tribulus terretis, trifolium pretense _ , and the most important, _ chamalerium luteum  _ \- fake unicorn. For the ritual asks for all these and more; hard-obtained herbs that took him months to gather - vines, flowers and shoot that will sizzle and burn in the fire and grant him his wish. 

A sigh falls, similar to the hiss of a snake in the scented air when the blade of a glinting dagger drags down his palm. Loki’s hands clasp together, spread the deep red of his blood to coat over them, drip down his wrists and forearms. Fingers drag down his face, over the thick black line painted over his eyes, they reach his chin and neck, swirl on his chest to mix the blood in a blur inside the runes. 

Loki turns to Thor, torso rolling, pouches rustling. His mouth opens and he starts chanting, staring into blue eyes. The words come from deep in his throat, hissed whispers against tan skin. His blood paints Thor’s face. 

Long fingers grab and tear Thor’s red tunic, push it over his strong shoulders to fall with a psithurism on the ground. Loki replicates the symbols painted on his own body, changing only the ones for conception to those of fertility, keeping the rest alike still. 

The village is overflowing with fools, dimwits afraid of his talents, of gifts the Gods have bestowed upon him. Upon his father before him. No one will dare go against their union now. Nevertheless the chief; old, boneheaded Odin, who thought he could keep Loki away from his lover with sly tricks. As if Loki would ever let that happen - no, Loki will bring fire to rain down on the village before he will allow Thor to be handfasten to any other but him.

Norns damn him, but in the end of the night Thor will be his, will belong only to him.

“Loki,” Thor murmurs, entranced, eyes heady with desire. His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach out and touch, marvel at the sensation and sight of Loki’s sinful body covered in gold, blood and coal. He wants to rip the breeches hiding his long legs away and discover for himself if the drawings cover them also.

The chanting is nearly hypnotizing, the way Loki circles him mesmerizing. He writes on Thor’s body with fleeting warm touches, maddening. Shivers wake and run down his spine, the hair on the nape of his neck rise when Loki breathes between the golden plaits. The words he speaks are sonorous, rumbling, tugging on strings deep inside Thor's chest.

The chains jingle by his ear when a milky arm reaches over Thor’s shoulder, throwing freshly gathered herbs into the fire. The flames roar, calling back to them as Loki slots his chest over Thor’s back, leading him with slow movements of his hips and his embracing arms forward, towards the fire’s heat. The cymbal starts sounding again, matching the beat of Thor’s heart in his chest, in his ears. The beat of Loki’s resonating against his back.

Loki’s manhood is hard against Thor’s backside, rubbing wickedly on him. Thor’s own cock has been hard nearly from the beginning, when he first stumbled his way into the clearing and caught Loki’s eyes with his. Loki’s hand is warm when it caresses down Thor’s side and grips his elbow, yanking him to spin around and face him. The gleam in his green eyes is undoubtedly wicked. Thor should feel dreadful, he should be pushing past Loki and running as far away as he could. However, he’s far from it. 

The eerie atmosphere and the sight of the fire dancing over Loki’s lithe form is arousing, the immoral look on Loki’s face is making him desperate in his need to touch and kiss.

Loki holds his palm and puts a resounding flutter of lips in the centre of it, nibbling gently on the flesh at the base of Thor’s middle finger. He never stops humming, arcane words that make no sense to Thor's ears - the atmosphere around them does however, the tugging of the moon and the whispering of the earth, the questioning and hopeful look he gives Thor.

Loki has said he will find a way for them to be together. Perhaps this is it. 

Thor doesn’t care; he only needs Loki, forever by his side.

“Aye,” he mumbles as if caught inside a dream, watches while Loki, quick as a viper, cuts a neat line to run the width of Thor's palm. 

They fold their hands together, mix their blood. More valuable than a ceremony. Deeper than a simple handfast. Stronger than hollow words, promises that will never be. 

Damn the village. Damn his father. Damn the maiden thinking she can wrap Thor around her fingers. 

They will never have him. None of them will, for Odin will have no other choice now but to free Thor of that foolish arrangement. 

Loki takes half a step forward, molding their chests together, hearts beating as one, breath mingling, warm and moist with tension and shared need. Thor leans in for a kiss that Loki denies, turns his head to the side, full lips catching only the corner of his mouth.

The dagger glints in the moonlight when Loki leads it through the laces of Thor’s breeches. The air gets caught inside Thor’s lungs - he has to clench his teeth and his fists or else risk disturbing Loki’s ritual as the cloth falls to pool around his booted feet and he kicks all of it away, uncaring, standing naked in front of Loki, his lover, in a clearing deep in the dark woods while Loki does his magic. 

“Is this a mating ritual?” Thor has to ask, fingers skimming over Loki’s hip when he spins out of reach, dancing a full circle around him and then standing in place again, rolls his lean body in salacious ways. Thor’s only answer is the mischievous smirk he gets. It will have to suffice.

Thor laughs, a belly-deep sound, throws his head back and feels his twin braids whisper over the blades of his shoulders. Loki’s fingers reach out to trail down the side of Thor’s neck. His humming lips flutter over Thor’s pulse. Sweet, loving, content. 

Loki pushes down on Thor’s shoulders, and he goes willingly on his knees. Face tilted up to watch Loki as he mumbles and hums. His words - vibrations that ripple through the air calling spiritual forces he can only feel or hear. 

Bloodied fingers reach for the leather bands securing Thor’s braids, pulls them away and disentangles the tresses until Thor’s hair cascades down his back - a river of molten gold. He leaves untouched only a thin plait on the side of Thor's head, dark and gold spun together in a loving embrace - a match to the one braided through Loki’s inky waterfall. 

Powerful, calloused hands seek out the laces on Loki’s pants, blue eyes silently asking for permission. Loki nods his consent and shivers at the stroke of Thor’s fingers over the bare expanse of his lower stomach; there where, if they are fortunate enough, if the Gods listen to his prayers, the seed of new life will be planted at the end of the rite.

Thor’s lips replace the touch of his fingers, spreading out warmth to coil in the pit of Loki’s belly. His fingers unlace Loki’s ties, slip through the rim, push the fabric down over his hips and bottom. Further down still, over his creamy thighs, until they pass from his knees and, with a rustle, fall on the ground. Thor kisses against his hip bone, unbuckles the leather strap fastening the cymbal at Loki’s side, puts it with care by his knees. 

The dried fruits and copper cylinders chime still their song as Loki settles in Thor’s lap. 

The fire hisses still as Thor kisses the column of his ivory neck. 

The air breezes still through the leaves as Loki murmurs the incantation. 

The pouches circling Loki’s waist rustle their contents as Thor’s hands stroke his backside and find an entrance already wet and slippery with scented oil. 

And the wolf howls at the new moon in the distance when a thick finger slips inside.

Loki sighs into the feeling, relaxing from neglected anxiety. Shivers erupt on his body and a bead of sweat rolls down his temple. His green eyes roll to watch a sky that's covered in thin clouds that start drizzling on them the moment a second finger pushes by the first, stretching him wider. 

His lover's lips are like hot brands on his cool skin, touching, claiming, marking. His breath stutters in its way out, heart clenching from how tender Thor is, how perfect his embrace feels. Loki is tighter than the last time they were together. 

Two moons have been wasted in stress and desperation, the sick coil of jealousy latching strongly on his insides. Two moons he had to pretend he could carry out a ritual nearly similar to this one. A ritual where the only part he would play would be that of the shaman, not that of the participant, not the one tying his life to another’s, but the one whose blessing would have been laced with envy, resentment and loathing. The bond created - a cursed one.

Not now, though. Now Loki is the one in his beloved's arms. Loki is the one gasping for air, trying to keep his eyes open and recite the rites. 

Now Loki will be the one to call Thor  _ maðr. _

The incantation Loki has chosen is an ancient one, no longer used for the difficulty of it. The requirements that have to be met and the abundance of affection it needs from both participants have rendered it ineffectual in the pass of times. It's powerful in the binding of their souls, potent; no living or spiritual force will ever succeed in separating them. They will be a force to be feared.

Loki hums a little higher when a third finger enters him, it’s as close to a moan as he can allow his voice to reach without losing his rhythm. 

Thor whispers over his skin, sweet promises and confessions of his love as if he cannot hold back any longer, as if he is perfectly wise of the ritual's nature. Mellifluous little things that flow over Loki’s body, blend in with the chiming and the rustling surrounding them, fill and illuminate Loki's soul in their honesty. 

When Loki feels stretched enough, he rises on his knees, clenches around the fingers inside him and leans his head in to take Thor’s lips in a humming kiss. 

He isn't allowed to speak, for he's the only shaman present and the rites cannot stop once they have started. He cannot stop the humming or the chanting, but Thor understands, for Thor knows how to read Loki and his silent demands better than even Loki himself.

The fingers withdraw, reach instead to grope on the soft flesh of his ass while Loki shuffles closer. Thor points his cock to nudge on the fluttering hole. Their eyes meet and their lips stutter in their kiss when Thor slowly enters him. 

The drizzling rain soaks gently their hair and bodies, slipping through the paint, trickling through the blood maring them. The pull of his hard, heated flesh sends shivers to whisper over their bodies. Something tugs deep inside Loki’s chest and snaps into place when Thor kisses him deep and unrepressed. Loki desires to get lost in their first kiss as spouses, forget of their roles and the hardships they have endured, stray into the sensation of rightfulness that bubbles in his gut, that makes his soul sing. 

However, the ritual is not yet finished. Long, thin fingers fold between Thor’s stroking on his side. Loki leads their hands, laced as they are, to the cymbal left aside, starts beating on the taut skin along to the beat of their joined hearts.

Thor’s other hand comes to splay over his stomach. His lips kiss Loki’s face. Worship his cheeks, his chin, behind his ear where Loki is most sensitive, they flutter over his beating heart while Loki lifts and lowers his body slowly on Thor’s cock. He's speaking and murmuring. How good it is. How much he loves Loki. The lengths he would go to nourish him and protect him. And the child. How much he wants it, how fortunate they will be.  _ Blessed. _

They are close, unable to drag their love-making further- the tension stinging through their bodies is too high, the desperation too strong and the time spent apart longer than either could stand. Thor’s jaw clenches, teeth delving harder in the flesh of Loki’s shoulder than half a minute earlier. And Loki understands perfectly. It coils in his stomach the same way it doubtlessly does inside Thor’s, too, tugs on his insides with the same force. 

Thor jerks and moans against Loki's neck, twitches in his canal, flooding him with his fertile spend, he has Loki shivering, lurching inside Thor’s tight embrace, shooting out semen to mingle and blend with the runes painted on their bellies. Through the symbols for fertility and conception. 

And Loki throws his head back, hands in the air, reaches out to the sliver of the new moon barely seen through the clouds. Requesting its power. Seeking new life. 

The incantation dies slowly on his lips. Husky words turning into sweet murmurings as he lowers his arms and circles them about Thor’s neck. Loki’s smile is alike nothing Thor has ever seen when Loki takes his hand, slots the matched incisions together before guiding them to his taut belly. 

The profound elation Loki gets as reaction is the most beautiful. It blends with the warmth tingling in his lower belly where he knows Thor’s seed has taken root and soars over him in an exhilarating wave of love and contentment.

Finally he can have all that his heart has ever desired. 

**Author's Note:**

> I adore this little piece and the idea of Loki going against everything, even human nature itself, so so much!!
> 
> Νext part will be a prequel to this. So, if you liked it, keep an eye out 🥰💕
> 
> I'm on twitter, [@TheAngryKimchi1](https://twitter.com/TheAngryKimchi1)!


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